


Trndsttr (fire when the strobe hits you)

by alicechugstea



Category: One Piece
Genre: Character Study, Experimental, Free style, Gen, Gen Fic, M/M, Multi, Zoro centric, if you squint if could be zolu, lyric work, some semi graphic descriptions of violence/gore?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 14:05:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12234384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicechugstea/pseuds/alicechugstea
Summary: A man who is an enigma, a mystery, a friend, a foe. All I seem to see is something underneath.----------A character study of Zoro, his journey, his thoughts, successes and failures.





	Trndsttr (fire when the strobe hits you)

**Author's Note:**

> Fic inspired by Trndsttr (feat. M. Maggie) by Black Coast. Go listen to that first!  
> I've written fanfic before but not for One Piece so, here ya go. Most of my fic are in a more experimental, free style. 
> 
> Enjoy, comments always appreciated!!

_Hey you, can I learn your flavour?_  
 _It's brand new, now it's in the papers_  
 _All I seem to see_  
_Must be something underneath_

The shape of his identity is an undulating sea of cloud, stained by the names carried through the scars on his skin. A storm rages underneath, pulsing in unpredictable bursts, in time only to the melodic singing of steel against steel and the flex of well corded sinew tightening against the sky.

In the dojo of his hometown, the weathered, yellowing parchment flutters tiredly in the warm breeze. Torn, frayed edges, stained transparent from the oils of a thousand fingers, the ink has nearly faded away. But the one thing that stays sharp and piercing, as constant as the sunrise and the sunset, as inevitable as the day when your own life will come to a close, is a piercing stare of unwavering determination, of promise, of ambition.

Even when the ink fades and the paper crumbles, all will quiver under the unspoken challenge of his eyes.

 

  
_Take two, I'm still tryna figure out what makes you_  
_Hard on the call, I guess it comes from your heart_  
_'Cause when your head's right, you take your time_  
_It's something about the love of things you like_

He’s not one for nostalgia, for reminiscing of things past and beyond control _(that’s what he tells himself, but in the dead of the night, there’s a weight that sinks into his chest, his heart, fills his lungs, that for all the strength of him he can’t shift)_ but it serves as the accelerator for his ambition, a roaring train slamming through towering waves of dark, dark water, his bark of laughter against the shadow of an unknown curse, a simmering undercurrent barely kept under wraps, waiting, waiting, waiting for the last taste of salty blood.

On the deck of the Sunny, his gaze is levelled, travelling down the blade of his sword to face the forward unknown. Zoro lets the sweat drip down his face, lets his body swim in his exertion and draws in a breath as he brings the blade smoothly across the air. Scarred fingers contract and relax, the glint parallel to the intensity in his sight.

An echoing roar of gasping laughter splashes across his mind and only the smallest twitch of his mouth gives him away. The rustling of a straw hat joins his thoughts and the scent of the sea only grows.

His inhales, fills his burning lungs, lunges as his unknown enemy, feet dancing furiously across the lush grass, and exhales.  
  


_Fire when the strobe hits (you, you)_  
_Bet you're looking for something new_  
_I feel the heat with you staring off across the room_  
_I dare you, play your cards, boy you bet I'm a trendsetter, too_

Zoro’s life is defined by a set of promises turned mantras. Each individual phrase carries its own weight and if laid out on a sheet of paper could easily reveal each step of his journey. _Promise me, promise_ me, whispers the white sheath at his side, caressing a twinge in his heart. _Never again, never again_ , howls Kitesu, its teeth eagerly sinking into the most vulnerable side of him, taking its time to slither under his skin and burn, burn, burn a cauterized path.

Shusui’s voice does not speak to him as the others do in the same haunting, chanting way. But he can hear it in the way he draws it, unyielding in his ambition to stand at the front. It watches him with a careless ease, but he can feel the pressure as a hot stinging sensation on his unmarked back. It is the last mantra that sets the tone for the rest of his volatile journey to stand at the top, to match yellow eyes with his own.

He hears it in the scars on his ankles and the forever stitches across his broad chest. He hears it echo in the unspoken beats of his nakama, in the clear, open, forever there eyes of his captain.

Sometimes he wants to laugh so hard he throws up, to cry until his chest rises up and down mocking the last gasps of a dying man, to clutch his head in his hands and writhe and scream and scream and scream, just like Thriller Bark, just like, just like, the split boat and his bleeding chest, (just like Kuina and the white of the sheet like a blanket of snow burying what can but never will be forgotten) his voice a choir of the swords he carries with him, forever and now.

But a promise is a promise, and if he loses all that he holds dear, the only thing left will always be his iron clad will.

  
_Fire when the strobe hits you_  
_Bet you're looking for something new_  
_Staring of across the room_  
_Bet I'm a trendsetter, too_

  
“Across the nine mountains and eight seas, there is nothing I can’t cut!” he thunders, black blades slicing through the stone Pica like melted butter.

There is no one to argue back – how can you possibly do so, to prove a law of nature to be wrong?

 

 _Bulletproof on another level, I hit up the crew_  
_Select never settles, it only gets better the more you see_  
_Powerful and free, confidence is key,_  
_So watch me, figure it out_

 

His crew always jokes that he’s a walking blood bank, what with the amount of high pressure gushing that results whenever he so much as receives a scratch, but for his line of work, it’s a true blessing in disguise.

At least to them, anyway.

Chopper places his hand on the IV and carefully draws the needle out.

“Here, keep the cotton ball on it and press hard.”

Zoro snorts, “You know it’ll seal up in less than a second,” but humours the doctor and does so anyway.

Chopper clicks his tongue as he whirls back in his chair with the surgical tape, carefully tying the cotton ball to his arm. “Just because you’ve got enough blood and plasma to keep this whole ship running, doesn’t mean I’m going to treat you any less as a patient!” he chastises, wriggling his horns in annoyance.

Zoro slips off the bench and slides his coat back on. “Besides, even someone like you is going need a transfusion here and there and I’d rather by prepared for how much you’re going to need.” Chopper continues as he buries his face into his notes, labelling the four packets of donated blood. “Though it really is a miracle how your body can contain that much volume. Biologically speaking for your mass, it really should be impossible…but ah well…this is the Grand Line…”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a freak of nature, what else is new?”

Chopper blinks and giggles at the irony, especially in this crew. Then he gasps and calls out at Zoro’s retreating back. “Don’t forget to swing by the kitchen and grab a glass of orange juice! You’re going to need the sugar! NO BOOZE FOR AT LEAST 12 HOURS!” Zoro’s gives a half-hearted wave like a benediction and the door clicks shut with finality. 

It’s a good thing, in his line of work, that he’s able to pump so much blood. The crew will always wonder how it’s even possible, but he knows that will never know.

Asura rouses deep within him, a dark shadow that settles down in the pit of his stomach. He closes his eyes and focuses, feels the thump of his heart, the rush of blood refilling his veins and bloating his arteries. He’s thick with it, wet and drowning and strangled by the heat of the blood, the blades singing along with the rest of his body. 

In the quest to reach the top, there will always inevitably be ones that fall behind and serve as the stepping stone for his climb upwards. But unlike so many others that crush broken bones and shatter dreams underneath their toes, he draws thanks them, keeps them closer than any enemy will ever hope to get. Their simpering and laughing, shrieking and snickering form the lifeforce within.

The blood of their loss and his victory exists with him, keeps him alive, working, moving, surging towards his goal.

  
 _It's all about what you bring to the crowd_  
 _Where your preference is love, they're calling me over_  
 _Set your fire on me, like what I see you getting closer_  
  
  
He calls out to his captain, knocks him on the head, forces him, _demands him_ to stay steadfast, stubborn, strong. The blades shake, a thousand voices clambering over each other, bubbling sluggishly through him. The loss of a nakama is nothing but traumatic, and he can’t help but lower his eyes away from Usopp’s beaten face, but real tragedy is still lurking around the corner, watching intently with cruel, thirsty eyes.

If the trust is lost, then the blood all will surge, and it will stain the deck and bleed out, dry and dense and heavy, swallowing the sea itself. Tragedy will cry in glee and gorge itself, guzzling the sweat/blood/tears of his nakama, where it will grow fat and bloated and sag across the cobblestone streets of the town in pure, sickening gluttony.

  
i  
i have been baptised thrice,  
  
once in water, once in flame, last in steel.

(HE’D RATHER TAKE HIS OWN LIFE, BLEED OUT INTO THE VAST OCEAN)

i survived because the fire inside burner brighter than the fire around me.

i fell down into your dark chasm, but the fire burned on and on,  
  
for woe! woe to the new world that leads my flock astray, for if I am not

(THEN FEED THE TAUNTING JEERS OF THE GRAND LINE OF THE NEW WORLD)

our shepherd

then I must

be

the

wolf

 

 

 _Hey trendsetter, see your fire when the strobe hits you_  
_I-I-I didn't see who you came with_  
_Bet you looking for something new_  
_I feel the heat with you staring off across the room_

  
  
Luffy watches his first mate strike across the deck, lifting the ridiculously heavy weights with practiced ease.

 

Tanned skin – a roadmap for his journey, still waiting patiently for the blanks to be filled in, Luffy thinks as he absently traces the faded lines with his eyes.

 

Zoro pauses at the end of his next kata and turns curious eyes towards his Captain. Luffy giggles, caught red handed in his observation. He leaps up from his perch and bounds over to Zoro, voice hollering his name with as much enthusiasm as anyone can muster.

 

Zoro gives a sharp grin, the one that most perceive him as the demon he can be, but he brings one sweaty hand to ruffle Luffy’s hair roughly, despite the younger man’s protests, quickly dissolving them into helpless screeches as he traps the captain and begins tickling underneath his vest.

 

The Thousand Sunny creeks, almost in merriment to the tune of their voices.

  
_I dare you, play your cards, boy_  
_You bet I'm a trendsetter, too_  
_I feel the heat, fire when the strobe hits you_  
_Bet you looking for something new_  
_Staring off across the room_  
_Bet I'm a trendsetter, too_

 

The shape of his identity is a draping deep cloth, flowing gracefully into the lives it ensnares, embroidered by the names carried through the scars on his skin and stitched together by the hands of his nakama. A sea ebbs and waves underneath, pulsing like a gentle heart in time to the song of the ship and the grasping flex of a hand reaching for the white sun in a bright, bright sky.

 


End file.
